


would have waited till the oceans fell away

by londongrammar



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 5+1 Times, F/M, Pups, This Fic Has Everything, baby vm, comedy! angst! fluff!, cottage theory™ vignettes, labour day shenanigans, lesbian life partners, outsider pov, post surgery vm, post-sochi scott moir feelings hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:05:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15344457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londongrammar/pseuds/londongrammar
Summary: She looks out into the lake, and that’s when she sees them. The fake 17-year old and the curly-haired girl are dancing at the edge of the water, pants rolled up to their knees. On the radio blasting next to them, a girl is telling the riveting story of askater boy, and the two almost burglars are banging their heads and bodies to the beat. The boy moves forward to lift up the girl in his arms and she hugs him tight as they twist round and round, laughing. Eventually, he puts her down, and the laughter ceases, but they don’t let go of one another.Maybe that boy isn’t so unlucky after all.*or, five times a girl and a boy surprised Margaret Williams of Bayfield, Ontario... and one time they didn't.





	would have waited till the oceans fell away

**Author's Note:**

> i know. itsbeen84years.gif
> 
> all of my half-finished fics: bitch what the hell are you doing  
> me: i don’t know  
> dom!scott fic: when r u letting me out u coward  
> me: wait, not just yet, i can’t write rn  
> tessa: goes to her cottage for three days  
> scott: disappears for three days  
> me:……….
> 
> Margaret, Betsy, and this entire story idea are the children of the amazing [Stellassearchformeaning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellassearchformeaning/pseuds/Stellassearchformeaning). This is for the incredible gc and for K, for living through this crazy time with me.
> 
> title comes from _lake song_ by the decemberists.

 

 **i. october 19, 2004**  
****

Loss, Margaret has decided, is a strange thing.

 

Movies, novels and popular lore all describe loss as a linear journey. You live your life, and suddenly, or not so suddenly, tragedy strikes, and then things go on their way. You experience grief in the pre-arranged five stages everyone is familiar with, and once you reach the end of the process, you’re able to move on with your life.

 

Time heals everything.

 

But what if it doesn’t?

 

What if you go through denial, anger, bargaining and depression, and you finally reach acceptance, only to wake up one day and find yourself back in denial? What if it gets better, and just as you breathe a sigh of relief, it gets worse again? What do you do then?

 

Margaret decided to run.

 

This is how she ended up here, in the dusty family cottage in Bayfield, trying to convince herself that she has to start over. Today.

 

Mary called earlier from Toronto, wanting to make sure her mother had gotten in okay and was settling nicely. _Kathryn said “mama” again today_ , she said, _and I wish you were here, and I’m going to come up to visit you when Brad gets his week off next month and he can take care of the baby, what do you want to do about dad’s clothes, do you want to donate some or do you want to keep them, I’m going to be close to Lawrence Park for work on Friday so do you need me to pick up anything from the house? Do you need anything? At all?_

 

 _I need my husband to come back. And if that can’t be arranged, then I need to be alone_ , Margaret wants to say.

 

But she doesn’t.

 

So she offers words of reassurance and hangs up the phone and gets to work on the semi-abandoned house. She sweeps, and mops, and washes curtains and dusts carpets and throws away a truckload of expired products. She looks around her and takes stock of all the work that needs to be done, from the mouldy walls to the paint on the front-facing windows and the horrible state of the garden that Jonathan loved so much. Halfway through it all, she realizes she is missing some key cleaning supplies and drives into the town’s grocery store to buy what she needs, only to remember when she gets home that she needs something else. This happens four more times, and by the end of the day she is on a first name basis with the owner of the store, a woman around her age with a kind face and a dry sense of humor named Betsy, who offers her a discount coupon for her next visit, along with a warm smile to welcome her into town.

 

Late into the night, she is asleep on the couch, exhausted, when a thunderous bang shakes her awake. She sits up instantly, and her first, ridiculous thought is that Jonathan’s ghost is here. Maybe he did decide to do her a solid and come back after all. Then she wakes up fully, and she realizes that she needs to move fast, in case the noise is burglars trying to get into the house. Another loud bang, and she understands the ruckus is coming from farther away. It sounds like someone is dropping something heavy on the ground, repeatedly. To her surprise, it occurs to her that she feels no fear. She has nothing to defend herself with, and this could definitely be a burglar, but she’s going to go out and face whatever is happening.

 

She steps out of the house and walks towards the road, when she hears voices from the next cottage over. She remembers that a family named Virtue owns that house, but she didn’t see a car in their driveway when she came in this morning. Maybe burglars are breaking into _their_ cottage. As she approaches, though, she realizes that something far stranger is happening.

 

A nine-feet tall _creature_ is trying to reach the house’s upstairs window.

 

Margaret screams, and in a swift motion the creature turns around and screams right back at her.

 

The scream is weird, and it comes in two different tones, almost like a harmony. Then the screaming stops, and the creature, incredibly, snaps in half.

 

Margaret steps closer, astonished, and realizes that the two halves of the creature are two teens, a small boy and a curly-haired girl, who, by the looks on their faces, know that they are in deep, _deep_ shit.

 

“What the _hell_ are you kids doing here at,” Margaret glances down at her watch, “ _3 in the morning_?!”

 

“Nothing, ma’am,” says the boy in a small, scared voice.

 

“What do you mean, nothing?” asks Margaret sternly. “You kids were trying to break into this house!”

 

“No, we weren’t, I swear!” interjects the girl in a panicked voice, and begins to ramble. “We were just trying to reach the spare key that my mom leaves on the upper floor window, but the ladder wasn’t steady and it kept falling, and it made all this noise, and then we decided that I’d climb up there, and I was trying to reach the key, and I finally did, and then you came here and you screamed,” she says in one breath.

 

Margaret’s head already hurts.

 

“Hold on, girl,” she says. “One thing at a time. Did you say your mom keeps a spare key up there?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“You’re Kate Virtue’s daughter?”

 

“Yes. I’m Tessa.”

 

“And what are you doing here without your parents? With a boy? He your boyfriend?”

 

“NO!” they girl and the boy yell at the same time.

 

“We’re athletes, we train together, we’re a team. We just came out here for a… break,” says the girl.

 

“A _break_?” asks Margaret, in disbelief. “In the middle of the night?”

 

“Well, we were supposed to go from London to Detroit and I drove us all the way to the border when Tessa said she didn’t want to go to Canton tonight, and we should come here instead,” the boy says, pointing to his left and for the first time Margaret notices the old, ratty truck that wasn’t there earlier. “So we called our Canton families from the road and said there was a family emergency at home and we’d get there _tomorrow_ night, and to call Marina and let her know, and I turned around and we got here way too late, and you know the rest.”

 

Something isn’t adding up. These two children are athletes? Who’s Marina? And more importantly…

 

“You said you _drove_ here?” Margaret asks the boy.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies solemnly.

 

“Boy, you’re not old enough to drive!”

 

“Yes, I am. I’m 17!”

 

“You’re _what_ now?”

 

His voice is high and his body is tiny and his face looks like he just graduated elementary school. He looks… 13. At best. _If_ she’s generous.

 

“I’m almost 17, swear to God! Do you want to see my driver’s license?”

 

Oh, that poor, unlucky boy.

 

“That won’t be needed,” says Margaret drily. “But how the _hell_ were you able to lift that girl so high like that?”

 

“That’s kind of my job,” he says, and she can easily detect the pride in his voice. She glances at the girl, Tessa, who has now turned to the boy with a look of utter admiration and hopeless love on her face. Oh. _Kids._

 

“Aren’t you two a little young to be lying to your families like that?” she says, and at least they have the decency to look ashamed.

 

“Please, please don’t tell my mom, ma’am,” begs the girl. “We just wanted a day off, we’ll be out of here tomorrow, we won’t bother you at all.”

 

Margaret decides they’ve been tortured enough, and lets them off the hook. “All right, all right, calm down, I won’t tell on you. But you kids better stay out of trouble, or I’m calling your mother, Tessa.” This is a flat-out lie, since Margaret doesn’t even have Kate Virtue’s number. But it does the trick.

 

“Yes, absolutely, no trouble at all,” they both say, tripping over their words. “You won’t hear a sound.”

 

This turns out to be a lie, too. The next morning, as she’s drinking her coffee, Margaret _does_ hear a sound. More specifically, she hears the sound of pop music coming from the lakeshore. The boy and the girl are apparently spending their day off throwing a small party by themselves. That’s the magic of good company, Margaret thinks wistfully. You don’t really need much to have fun.

 

On a whim, she picks up the phone and calls the local animal shelter. She is startled to hear Betsy, the storeowner, on the other side of the line. She sometimes volunteers at the shelter, she says, and yes, as a matter of fact they do have a dog up for a adoption, he was found last week roaming alone in the town square, a really tough cookie, and of course she can bring him around for Margaret to meet him.

 

Betsy arrives an hour later, wearing the same smile she did yesterday. Margaret scans the bed of the other woman’s truck for the dog, before she realizes that Betsy’s holding a tiny little Maltese fur ball in her arms. His name is Hector, says Betsy, like the hero of Troy, and if he survived in the streets he can definitely become Margaret's fearless protector.

 

A couple of hours later, Hector is making himself comfortable in his new digs. He curiously inspects every corner of the house, as Margaret goes out into the porch, trying to make a list of everything she needs to buy and all the vet visits she needs to arrange for her new friend. She looks out into the lake, and that’s when she sees them.

 

The fake 17-year old and the curly-haired girl are dancing at the edge of the water, pants rolled up to their knees. On the radio blasting next to them, a girl is telling the riveting story of a _skater boy_ , and the two would-be burglars are banging their heads and bodies to the beat. The boy moves forward to lift up the girl in his arms and she hugs him tight as they twist round and round, laughing. Eventually, he puts her down, and the laughter ceases, but they don’t let go of one another.

 

Maybe that boy isn’t so unlucky after all.

 

**ii. january 24, 2011**

 

The grandfather clock in the hallway strikes twelve, but Margaret isn’t going to fall asleep any time soon.

 

What kind of idiots do beach parties in _January_ , anyway?

 

The rock music is blasting at full volume, and to top it off these kids are _screaming_ at the top of their lungs. And to make matters worse, now Margaret is hungry. Earlier, her best friend Betsy had come over for a marathon of Golden Girls and made the most delicious meatball pasta Margaret has ever had. And so as a thank you, Margaret let her best friend have the last piece of the lemon pie in her fridge. Problem is, now she desperately wants some dessert, but she’s all out of groceries and can’t whip anything up.

 

In a huff, she throws her covers away, gets up and puts on her coat over her pyjamas. She’s going to drive to the nearest convenience store that is open at this hour, even if _nearest_ means 20 miles away, and get herself some ice cream. Because she deserves it.

 

She gets out into her driveway, car keys in hand, when something draws her attention. It’s a shadow way out on the road, and she’s briefly alarmed about who could be lurking outside her house after midnight, before she recognizes the silhouette. It’s the Virtue girl, the one whose house is currently the site of a lot of partying, and, more likely than not, many indiscretions.

 

But if the party is over there, then what is she doing out here?

 

“Tessa?” she calls out.

 

“Um, hi,” the girl says as soon as she looks up, and immediately her face is filled with shame. “I am so sorry for all the noise, I’m going back to tell them to shut it down now, I just -“

 

“Wait, wait,” says Margaret, walking towards the road. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” the girl says hastily.

 

“Then why are you out here, pacing up and down the road, instead of at your own party?”

 

The girl smiles apologetically. “It isn’t really my party. It’s just the middle of our season,” that’s right, they’re athletes, “and my partner and I are in a much better place, considering the circumstances, and also our friend Patrick just won a competition. So. Um. Someone in our group suggested we come out here and throw a party, since the house was empty and no one comes around here this time of year. I mean, except you.” She pauses. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

 

Considering the _circumstances_?

 

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I wasn’t going to call the police,” Margaret says, and they both laugh, until she notices the wince that quickly passes through the girl’s face.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Ah, yeah. I’m just in, um, a little pain today.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Um… I’ve had surgery on my legs,” Tessa says, but it comes out more like a question. “It was my second operation, and my rehab went well, but I pressured myself a little and now the pain is back.”

 

“Will you have another operation?”

 

“I… I don’t think so. I don’t want to risk it again. I probably have to find other ways to deal with it.”

 

“What about your teammate? Where is he?”

 

“Oh, he’s back at the house,” the girl says quickly, in a diplomatic tone that is just this side of tense. “His girlfriend is there, and our friends too, he’s busy.”

 

“No,” says Margaret, “I mean, where is he in all this? Can he help you? Have you told him about the pain?”

 

The girl looks down, moves a little bit of gravel around with her sneakers.

 

“Not really. He’s been really worried about me all this time, and I don’t want to stress him out. I can get through this.”

 

“Sweetie,” Margaret says softly, and the girl finally meets her eyes. “I think you should tell him.”

 

“I know,” says Tessa in a quiet voice. “I will.”

 

Suddenly, the echo of the music that was coming from the nearby cottage stops, and the night is quiet again.

 

“Party’s over? So soon?” teases Margaret.

 

“We’ve all been up since 5am, actually, so they probably passed out, and it’s about time,” laughs the girl. “I should probably get back.”

 

“Okay. Get some rest,” says Margaret, and turns around to walk back into her house, just after the girl replies, _Thank you, I will._

 

It’s only as she falls back to sleep, burrowed deep under her covers, that Margaret realizes that, for all her earlier determination, she completely forgot about her midnight quest to buy her well-deserved ice cream.

 

 

**iii. august 20, 2014**

 

Margaret stands in front of the frozen goods shelf for a good ten minutes, staring at pizzas, trying to make sense of her life.

 

But mostly, she’s hiding from Betsy.

 

Now, she realizes that hiding from someone inside their _own store_ is a really bad idea. But in Margaret’s defense, until she heard Betsy’s voice coming from the next aisle, she didn’t consider the possibility her friend would be here so early. Obviously, she didn’t think this through. She wasn’t thinking during yesterday’s dinner at Betsy’s house either, when she went about six glasses of wine above the limit she can normally handle, and suddenly, pressing her lips to her best friend of ten years seemed like an amazing idea. And then she bolted out of the house before Betsy could even react.

 

Margaret is still plotting an exit strategy when she hears the sound of approaching footsteps. She looks up, terrified, and the strangest feeling of warmth settles into her chest when she see’s Betsy’s face. She is smiling, just like she always does, like nothing could ever be wrong in this world. She says good morning, with a light touch of her hand against the back of Margaret’s palm.

 

On the way back to her cottage, Margaret’s still in a daze. Somehow, miraculously, Betsy suggested they have dinner tonight, and now Margaret has about eight hours to make the world’s most impressive meat loaf, not to mention reconsider her entire life and the world as she knows it. She’s approaching her cottage, lost in thought, when she sees a high-end truck parked on the side of the road.

 

“Can I help you with anything?” she asks the driver as she stops her car next to his.

 

“Thank you, I’ve called road assistance and I’m just waiting for them to get here,” he tells her, flashing a smile. He turns to face her properly and suddenly she recognizes him. It’s the burglar dancing loverboy, the young Virtue girl’s athlete partner or whatever, years after she last saw him. She never sees him around the Virtues’ cottage anymore. Lately, another man has been coming around, a rude man with an obnoxious sports car who once asked her for directions to the gas station and drove off without even saying thank you.

 

Margaret feels a spike of curiosity, and pulls her car in front of the boy’s. He has clearly been raised with manners, because by the time she opens her door, he’s gotten out of his car and he’s walking towards her, taking off his sunglasses and extending a hand to greet her.

 

She gets a good look at him. He’s grown up a lot, although he still looks younger than he actually is. His form is slender, but he’s built well, and his hand shakes hers in a firm, but relaxed touch, like he knows just how much pressure to apply. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been crying, or like he hasn’t slept in days, and Margaret has looked into her own mirror enough to know that either or both of these things might be true.

 

“Is everything okay?” she asks him.

 

He nods his head towards his car (although that was not the meaning of her question exactly) and says, “Just a blown fuse. They’ll fix it in no time.”

 

“Do you want me to go and get…” she says and gestures vaguely in the direction of the Virtues’ cottage, half a mile down the road.

 

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head emphatically. He lifts his hands up, then he clasps them together so tightly that every vein on his forearms seems to pop. “I don’t… It’s not… No.”

 

She nods. She’s never seen anyone say _no_ to something so strongly that their entire body commits to it.

 

“What’s your name?” she asks him.

 

He seems to forget his manners for a moment. “Why do you want to know?”

 

“Well, it didn’t occur to me to ask you back when I thought you were the bogeyman and almost had a heart attack.”

 

His eyes widen and he lets out a gasp.

 

“Oh my gosh, that was you? I am so sorry,” he says, and then a grin plays on his lips. “We were such idiots,” he adds and Margaret can’t contain her laughter at the memory.

 

“I’m Scott. Moir.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Scott. I’m Margaret Williams.”

 

“A pleasure, Ms Williams.”

 

“Call me Margaret,” she tells him and watches him for a moment.“Why did you ask me why I wanted to know your name?”

 

“I’m sorry, that was very rude of me,” he says, looking sheepish.

 

“No, it’s all right. I just wanted to know what you meant.”

 

“I meant… you probably won’t need to know or remember my name.” He must see the look of surprise on her face, because then he hastens to explain.

 

“I probably won't ever come around these parts again.”

 

Oh.

 

“Why not? Don’t you like our beautiful little community?” Margaret tries to tease him.

 

“Well,” he begins, casting his eyes downwards with a painful smile. “You know how you do something for the last time, but you don’t realize it was the last time until much later?”

 

Margaret _does_ know. She wishes someone would have told her to look up from her book and smile at Jonathan, the morning he left the house to go to the bakery and never returned. She wishes she would have known their hug the previous night, just before bed, was the last time she would be in his embrace. She would have squeezed him tighter, just for a few seconds more.

 

“In this case…” he trails off for a bit, and then he takes a deep breath. “In this case, I _know_ it’s the last time.”

 

Scott looks back up at her. She smiles, trying to say she understands. He nods, and then he speaks again.

 

“Some things just… end.”

 

“Maybe,” Margaret tells him. She knows a thing or two about finality. But lately, she’s also thought about looking at things differently. “Then again, if you turn your head upside down, doesn’t every end look like a beginning?”

 

“Maybe,” he says, but he doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t know this boy, she can’t get through to him, and he’s not in the right frame of mind to listen. One day, he might change his mind. But not yet.

 

The road assistance truck rolls up and she shakes the boy’s hand goodbye. She gets into her car and drives home, but the daze she felt earlier is completely gone. The path has cleared, and she knows where she wants to go.

 

Betsy comes around for dinner, and stays the night.

 

 

**iv. september 2, 2016**

 

September is warm, but not too hot. The sun is shining, but it isn’t blistering. The sand is comfortably damp, but not muddy.

 

Betsy’s hand fits perfectly into the crevices of Margaret’s palm, and Hector skips down the edge of the shore, happy to get his paws wet.

 

Everything is just right.

 

Betsy and Margaret are sitting in lawn chairs in front of their cottage, their feet outstretched, soaking in the sun and drinking Betsy’s homemade margaritas, when Margaret hears a splash from somewhere to her left, and sees something she never thought she'd see.

 

It’s been two years, but the boy is here again.

 

He's running into the lake, with the girl on piggyback. They're both still wearing proper clothes and she's fake protesting for him to put her down, but her laugh betrays her. He dives in dramatically and takes her with him, and for a few moments they disappear from sight.

 

Then their heads come back up for air, and there's no laughing. Her arms are around his neck and she is touching her forehead to his. From this distance Margaret can’t tell if their eyes are closed, but she can definitely tell they’re about to kiss, when Hector barks loudly and they both startle apart to look in their direction.

 

The girl and the boy come out of the water, their jeans and shirts soaked through and through. They look utterly ridiculous. Hector, always up for play time, goes to them and stands on two feet, wagging his tail excitedly. He's twelve years old now, but he's still so energetic, almost as playful as he used to be when he was a puppy.

 

They exchange warm hellos with one another. Margaret looks at Scott, and Scott looks at Margaret, and they both grin at the same time.

 

She remembers his name, but still thinks of him as _the boy_. He looks different again, she thinks. He must be almost thirty now, and he _finally_ looks his age. His shoulders are broader, and he’s filled out in all the right places. His hair is longer, sticking out in all directions after the dive, and there are crinkles around his eyes that she doesn’t remember seeing the last time he was here.

 

Maybe he’s been smiling more.

 

“You should have a dog again,” the boy tells the girl as she rubs Hector behind his ears.

 

“Ha!”

 

“I’m serious! Think about it, it would be awesome,” he says, arching his eyebrows enthusiastically and launching into his pitch. “Come to practice and play with Billie and everything, eh? And the dog park is literally one block away from home, so convenient.”

 

“Is that right?” she laughs. “Well, who’s gonna walk him in the mornings? Not me, that’s for sure.”

 

“I could walk him,” he says in a quiet, sure voice. 

 

A look passes between them and lingers, meaningful in ways Margaret can’t exactly understand.

 

*

 

Later that evening, well into dusk, Hector the jokester decides to be naughty. Betsy is playing fetch with him, when he takes off in the direction of the girl's cottage. Hector is old, but Margaret and Betsy are older, and so it’s easy for him to get a huge head start on them. They run off behind him, panting for air, and finally spot him.

 

They also spot something they _really_ shouldn't see.

 

The girl and the boy are on a towel on the beach, in the middle of what looks suspiciously like making out with a side of dry humping. She’s straddling him, and her fingers are in his hair, their faces pressed together. He’s moving his hips upwards, making a strangled sound through their open-mouthed kiss, and his hands are roaming underneath her oversized sweater. At least they’re wearing clothes. _Thank God for small mercies_ , Margaret thinks.

 

"Hector, get back here," whispers Betsy, but the girl and the boy hear her and scramble to disentangle themselves. They put two feet of distance between them and look up with bright smiles, as if they weren’t nearing second base ten seconds ago.

 

“Hector seems to love you,” Margaret says, as Betsy’s lip twitches suspiciously, on the edge of a giggle fit. “Sorry to interrupt.”

 

“Oh no, you didn’t interrupt anything! We were just sitting here!” says the girl in a high-pitched voice that sounds like a telemarketer trying to bullshit their way through a sale. “How are you?”

 

“Well, we were just about to go to bed when this little guy ran off to see you kids.”

 

“Oh, great!” says the boy, in a way that makes it clear he’s in a _real_ hurry.

 

Betsy and Margaret are about to turn around and put them out of their misery, when out of the corner of her eye Margaret notices a tray that holds one giant chocolate cupcake, next to a pair of sparklers and a solitary thin candle. She turns towards the pair again, and winks theatrically.

 

“Oh, hey, happy birthday!” she says cheerily.

 

Back home, it takes them a while to get to bed. They spend half an hour re-enacting the scene, remembering the hilarious expressions on the poor kids’ faces, breaking into fits of laughter so hard they’re crying.

️

 _This_ kind of entertainment is so much better than TV.

 

 

**v. february 19, 2018**

 

 _Just come out with it_ , she tells herself while she’s stirring the pot with the boiling sauce. It’s time, and she’s wanted to do this for so long. She has to _literally_ come out with it.

 

Easier said than done.

 

It's her 63rd birthday, and her family has come up here to celebrate. Her daughter Mary with her husband, Brad, and Margaret’s pride and joy, her granddaughter Kathryn, are in the living room, waiting for dinner to be served. Betsy is in there too. Her family has met her _really good friend, Betsy_ before, and this time it seems they're getting along better than ever. That makes sense, though. Betsy is thoughtful, and funny, and lovable in every single way. Anyone would be lucky to know her. Anyone would be lucky to have her.

 

Margaret can’t hide anymore.

 

They have a lovely dinner, and Margaret blows out her candles. After her family claps and cheers she stands up. "Betsy made this cake for me," she says. "She is more than a friend to me,” she adds, and looks into Betsy’s eyes, now brimming with tears. “She's my love and my partner, and these last few years she's done everything in her power to make my life wonderful. I love her, and I hope you guys can love her too."

 

A beat passes, and for one horrific second she imagines that her family won’t support her, and it almost breaks her heart. But then Mary flies out of her chair and into her’s mother’s arms, letting out a sob.

 

“I’m so, so happy for you, mommy.” She turns to Betsy and with tears running down her cheeks she says, “Thank you for making my mother happy.”

 

Brad and Kathryn join them. They’re crying too, and the family comes together, hugging one another next to the dining room table.

 

Finally, the tearfest ends when Kathryn wipes her cheeks, and smiles pleadingly at her grandma.

 

"Grammy, I love you so much, and I _really_ don’t want to interrupt this moment, but would it be okay for me to turn on the TV to the Olympics? There's something I really really want to watch."

 

Margaret laughs loudly. Her heart is so full right now, she could watch an entire season of that disgusting TV show where people ate all sorts of gross things, and she’d still be happy. She grabs the remote and turns on the TV to CBC. It’s the middle of an Olympic event, and the camera pans around to show a huge ice rink.

 

"Oh my God, it's starting already!" screams her granddaughter. “Oh my God, please please please let them win!”

 

Margaret and Betsy are speechless. Right there on the TV screen, under heavy makeup and sparkly clothes, are the girl and boy from the cottage next door, taking the ice like they own it.

 

They’re athletes. A team. Of _figure skaters_.

 

“Kathryn, you know these two?”

 

"Oh my God miss Betsy, of course I do! Everyone does! It's Tessa and Scott! They're the best ice dancers ever!” Kathryn says enthusiastically. “They’ve skated together for twenty years and they’re so in love and they have to be together but they're not,” she whines.

 

Margaret and Betsy look at each other and smirk. They’re not, huh?

 

Then the music starts, and Margaret watches as pure magic unfolds in front of her. It’s more than a look, or a touch, or a choreographed move. What she sees is the invisible tie that binds them and makes their bodies look like they’re one entity. She has never watched this sport before in her life, but somehow she believes in them. When the boy sings the words _I love you_ and smiles at the girl in the same easy, casual way he had that day on the beach, and when she climbs onto his legs, arms up in the air, looking like she’s ready to fly, Margaret _believes_ in them.

 

A while later, the family huddles together on the couch, still giddy and emotional. Hector sits comfortably at their feet, his attention on the images showing on TV. A girl and a boy remain closely entwined, as the whole world looks at them, and they look only at each other.

 

 

**+1**

**july 16, 2018**

 

"The polaroid has to be perfectly aligned in the middle, Scott.”

 

"So crop it later, Tess.”

 

"I can't take the picture while you're kissing my neck.”

 

"But I can't stop kissing your neck.”

 

“Babe.”

 

“Swear to God, can’t stop.”

 

Betsy and Margaret are in the middle of their usual morning walk with Hector when they see the girl and the boy, for the first time this year. Margaret isn’t surprised to see them like this anymore; since that day two years ago, the boy has been here a lot, and she often sees him jogging up and down the shore with his shirt off in early mornings, always alone because _T isn’t really a morning person_. This is the first time they’re here together after the Olympics, though. They must have gotten in yesterday, judging by the spotless black car parked in the cottage's driveway.

 

They look more radiant than ever. They've only just gotten out of the water, their bathing suits wet and her long hair clinging to her body. The girl is holding a photograph on one hand and her phone in the other, and she can't stop giggling as the boy nuzzles her shoulderblade.

 

"Damn it, I can't tickle you with my hair any more," he tells her. ”Soon, though,” he adds in a fake-ominous voice, and he opens his mouth, baring his teeth, pretending to come at her like a lion, complete with sound effects. He starts running his fingers over her stomach, and the girl lets out a loud laugh.

 

Margaret has been keeping tabs on things. She asked Kathryn the other day, pretending that she was just showing interest in her granddaughter’s hobbies, and she was informed that “VM” have just returned from a long work trip abroad. They were on TV last Tuesday, promoting their future plans and, frankly, looking a little worse for wear. Today they look completely different, and it's not just because the boy chopped all his hair off. They look so _young_ , Margaret thinks to herself as she walks towards them. They look _free._

 

Maybe a tad _too_ free, considering the fact that as Margaret and Betsy approach them, the loud laugh turns quite suddenly into a loud moan.

 

Betsy lets out the kind of cough that accompanies a severe case of laryngitis. The kids don’t even flinch. They look relaxed, serene and giddy as they turn towards them, obviously happy to see them, the girl tucked into the boy's side.

 

“So," says Betsy, "y'all having a good time?"

 

"The best," says the girl. "I really missed this place."

 

"I missed it too," adds the boy, and Margaret thinks he's talking about more than the house or the lakeshore. "What are you girls up to?" he asks, with sincere interest.

 

Margaret and Betsy talk to them about their plans for a sail around the lake and their new house project, building an extension to their cottage dock. The girl and the boy say they'll be in the lake for a few days, but soon they're going to have to get back to work. As a matter of fact, the girl says, they're planning a huge party for early August in Ilderton, and would Margaret and Betsy like to come over?

 

"What's the party for?" Betsy feigns ignorance, sensing that here, in this place, the boy and the girl feel no pressure to be anything other than, well, just a boy and a girl.

 

"Oh, we, uh, we've been working together for a while and, um, we recently had some really good moments and we want to celebrate", says the girl.

 

"It would be our honor," says Margaret earnestly. "But on one condition. If you guys are free the last weekend of August, we're having a party of our own, and we'd love it if you could come."

 

The boy smiles, but he stays quiet, apparently waiting for the girl to take the lead on this. But it seems that there’s no need for him to fret, because she immediately gives an easy smile and says, "We'd love to! What's _your_ party for?"

 

"Our wedding," says Betsy, and holds up their entwined hands to show the simple, elegant engagement bands on their fingers.

 

"Oh my gosh, congratulations!” the girl and boy say in unison, and rush forward to hug Betsy and Margaret. "Of course, of course we'll be there!" the boy says.

 

"I love weddings," says the girl with a warm smile.

 

The boy wraps his arm around her again, pulls her in to his side and lifts an eyebrow at her. "You do, huh?"

 

"Oh yeah," she tells him, smirking. "Lately, I've been _all_ about weddings."

 

"Lately."

 

"Yeah."

 

"That's _so_ interesting."

 

"I know."

 

With every sentence, they've been inching closer and closer to each other, and now their noses are touching. He’s moved the hand from her shoulder to rub the back of her neck, in slow circular motions, and her clipped answers come in a low, breathy voice.

 

Margaret and Betsy can't _believe_ them.

 

"Sooooooo,” says Betsy, almost yelling. "Do you kids like pecan pie? It's my specialty. I've made two today, and I've been wondering who to pawn off one to.”

 

"Oh, that's so incredibly nice of you," says the girl. "You really don't have to."

 

"No, no, it would be our pleasure," says Margaret. "It's delicious, you're gonna love it. Need it, even."

 

"Need it?" asks the boy.

 

"Mmmhmmmm," says Margaret. "Nuts are really good for you, son. They build up strength."

 

A pause before the kill.

 

"They also build up stamina."

 

Silence.

 

The boy and the girl remain speechless, frozen in place. His eyebrows have shot up in a comical way, and Margaret imagines him trying to concentrate hard enough to teleport right out of Bayfield. And as for the girl, she throws a furtive glance at the board lying a few feet away on the shore, probably planning to paddle away to the other side of Lake Huron as fast as she can.

 

"See you kids later!" sing-songs Margaret innocently, as she, Betsy and Hector turn around to trot down to their cottage happily.

 

*

 

It’s sunset by the time Margaret gets around to delivering the pie. She walks down her neighbour’s driveway and knocks on the door, but there’s no answer. There was no one on the beach when she looked from her window ten minutes ago, but the black car is still parked a few feet away, so someone must be home. She knocks and knocks, but no one opens.

 

There’s a narrow passageway on the side of the house, and she follows it, hoping it leads to the cottage’s front deck. She goes all the way down the many steps of the wooden staircase, finally reaching the deck area. Someone is definitely there, and she’s about to make a joke on the perils of delivering pecan pies after hours, when she notices the picture in front of her.

 

The girl lies on the lounger closer to the edge of the deck, and the boy is asleep, dead to the world, in her arms. His head is on top of her stomach, his hand around her waist and one of his legs tangled between hers, as he breathes in and out, peacefully. Her eyes are closed too, but she isn’t asleep. She’s holding him close to her, one hand on his back, the other lightly threading through his short hair. He stirs, and for a moment it looks like he might wake up, but he only moves to snuggle a little closer to her before relaxing again.

 

Tessa must have been so focused on him that she didn’t even hear the heavy footsteps on the wooden deck, Margaret thinks. She decides not to disturb the couple, but just as she goes to turn and leave, the girl looks up and smiles. Her eyes widen in appreciation when she spots the pie in Margaret’s hands.

 

Margaret grins and brings a finger up to her lips; Tessa responds by nodding imperceptibly and softly blinking in agreement. Margaret tiptoes to the coffee table close to the loungers, and sets down the pie carefully. Then, she looks up at Tessa.

 

 _Take care_ , she mouths. _Of yourself_ , she means to say. _Of him. Of your life. Of everything you love._

 

Tessa nods, and seems to understand. _Thank you_ , she mouths, and looks back down at the boy in her arms.

 

Margaret gives the two of them one last smile, and then she walks from the deck to the beach and on to the path that will take her back home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> cottage theory™ believers unite
> 
> comments are love!


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